


Healthy Aerobic Exercise

by Su_Whisterfield



Series: Squaring the Circle [3]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Tail Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 20:59:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su_Whisterfield/pseuds/Su_Whisterfield
Summary: Sequel to Four Beds.The story so far...Jean’s booted Logan out of her bed, for being a possessive macho shit (well, duh!) and treating his best friend, who he’s also in a relationship with, like an optional extra. Go Jean.So, in his usual mature, adult manner, Logan has a sulk on.And he’s commandeered Kurt’s bed to have the sulk in.Kurt has to go work to in the morning *and* breakfast with Jean, but he doesn’t know that yet.Chapter one is tame, chapter two contains healthy aerobic exercise between two consenting adults.





	1. Thinking, and other bad ideas

Damn it. I fucking hate thinking.  
Kurt leans into me. How fucking dare he. In his own fucking bed. Who does he think he is?  
Yes, even I can see the flaw in my scintillating logic.

Damn him and damn Jeannie too, for good measure.

He raises this head and his sleepy eyes are the same gold as the dawn in the window behind him. How dare he. How dare he be so fucking beautiful for a start.  
“I thought you...”  
Now, Logan, now is the time for a quick joke and then distract him by screwing his skinny ass through the mattress, that always works.

I look down at him. I always look down at him, he’s half a foot taller than me, but this is my gig, my story, he’s just the sidekick, the second, the one who’s less important. Less important than me. Less important than Jeannie. Much less important than me fucking the fucking the woman of my fucking dreams.  
How dare he be real and solid and warm in my arms?  
How dare he have wants and needs and feelings beyond those I allow him?

“What’s the matter?” He’s thoroughly puzzled, I’m his room, his bed, without a by-your-leave; he was deep asleep.  
He should fucking grow a pair like a real man and throw me out on my fucking ear. 

Except. 

Except there’s enough macho bullshit around here. Most of it from me.  
His hand comes up to touch my face but I catch his wrist, he’s looking puzzled now. I could tear him in half without breaking a sweat. I can feel the bones, the strength of sinew and muscles; his hands and wrists are strong from decades on the trapeze but they’re still nothing compared to my metal skeleton and enhanced muscles. I could crush him, but he’s not afraid of me.

“Jean? Oh.” Realisation dawns. I was supposed to be with Jean, now I’m not with Jean, I’m with him. Now I’m invading his privacy, his bed, his life, again. After politely telling him to ‘fuck off’ so I could be with her. And him, ever so politely, ‘fucking off’ as requested, without any argument. Why doesn’t he fucking argue? Why doesn’t he fight?

I still have hold of his wrist. I turn his hand over, those strange, unique fingers, the fuzz of fur, as short and soft as suede, he’s watching me, he’s starting to become concerned, I can smell the change. I bring his wrist to my nose and take in his scent, particularly strong over the pulse point.  
“I. Love. You.” I kiss his soft inner wrist with each word.  
I wait for the sky to fall and the world to end, but nothing untoward happens.  
He brings his other hand up to cup my face.  
“I know that, I love you too, you don’t need to say it.” His smile is sweet. “And you love Jean. It’s alright. Why don’t you try loving both of us?”  
Simple. I can do that.

See, that’s why he’s beautiful; not for that blue velvet fur, or those incandescent eyes, not for what’s between those long, long legs. The most beautiful thing about my Elf is what’s between his pointy ears.


	2. Speechless

He moves up me, slowly, easily, gracefully, always gracefully.  
The warmth of his lean body against mine gets the usual reaction from my cock.  
He feels so different to a woman, flat and hard with muscle where there would be curves and softness. He smells different, musky and always that underlying acrid tang of spent matches that’s uniquely him, I’d know his scent anywhere.

But his mouth is warm and wet, so’s his pretty ass with a bit of lube. He’s up for it. Up for pretty much anything as far as I can tell. ‘Just healthy aerobic exercise, between consenting adults, _ja_?’ he told Chuck, many years ago, when he was challenged over the stream of pretty girls in and out of his bed. 

His mouth is on me, all over me, hungry for the taste of me, the sensation of that velvet fur across my skin is intense. Needle sharp teeth nip at me, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make me shiver, almost too much stimulation, sensory overload.

I catch his head in my hands and tilt it up towards me, looking deep into those matchless eyes,  
“You know I’d never hurt you, you know, physically?” His brows draw together, puzzled, he opens his mouth to speak. But I need to say this and he needs to hear. “Shh. Let me say this.” He nods, still puzzled. “You’ve got to stop letting me hurt you in other ways too, Elf. Ya’ gotta call me out when I say and do dumb things which upset you, which make you feel like you don’t matter. ‘Cos you’re important to me, you’re always important to me, I’m just shit at remembering that sometimes, mostly when I’m thinking with my cock. I’m a selfish, stupid old man and you need to call me out on it.” There, that’s more than I think I’ve ever said to him about us, our relationship, over all those years, happy now Jeannie?  
He looks stunned too.  
“Okay?” I ask. He’s speechless. That’s a first. He manages to nod but he turns his head away. Aha, not so fast, my lad, I know him too well, I know when he’s evading. “I mean it, Kurt.” I turn his face back towards me, he knows I’m serious when I use his name.  
“...Okay.” Small voice, but it’s a start, I think.

I’m not, contrary to Jean’s current opinion, actually stupid; it’s going to take more than some kind words and good sex to rewire what’s wrong with this relationship. I lock my feelings for him safe away in a box when I’m not with him. I always have, for his safety as well as my own. That’s not going to change. What he needs to understand that he can have access to those feelings for him, and the responsibility they entail, anytime, anywhere, not just when I choose, but when he wants or needs me.

I run my hand down that velvety flank and lower my voice. “And I would _very_ much like to fuck you now. Please?” He nods, still speechless. 

Keeping eye contact, I reach out for the purple blooms with the heady scent, they crush into silky smooth lube and he opens his thighs for me. I don’t deserve him, it’s a fucking honour to be allowed to touch him; as far as I know, I’m the only man allowed in his bed, to see him like this, relaxed, wanton, writhing as my fingers move in him, making a little mew in his throat as I find the sweet spot.

We move so I’m kneeling and, still keeping eye contact, he lowers himself down onto my cock; I’m a big guy, he’s... not. But we’ve been doing this for years, his body knows me, trusts me.  


“Ohh...” His eyes close as he concentrates on accommodating me. He’s biting his lip and his head goes back. I stroke his thighs, supporting some of his weight. “I... oh!”  
And I’m in, oh god he’s tight. “Okay?” He just nods, his own cock is starting to harden between us, he’s okay. We’re okay.

He starts moving, all those sleek muscles working together. His eyes open and he’s looking at me again, lowering himself to my chest, so his cock is sandwiched between us, he’s so supple, I’d snap if I tried half the shit he can pull off.  
He sits up again, rolling his hips and I start thrusting up into him, so tight, so hot, so fucking good. I wrap a fist around him, my hand still slick with lube and slide his foreskin back. 

The words are tumbling from him now, mostly English, some German, he’s lost a lot of that soft accent over the years, but, short circuit that overthinking brain and it’s still there, under the surface.  
His tail thrashes on the bed, wild, beyond his control and he comes over my hand and stomach, the smell of him and the feeling as his muscles tighten involuntary with the spasm of his orgasm makes me lose my control. 

I roll us, so he’s under and I can get purchase and start to thrust hard, I can hear myself growing, so much for him making me tender, he’s closed his eyes and just lets me. I know he doesn’t like the weight of me, I know having the base of his tail ground into the bed is uncomfortable.  
I stop myself by sheer willpower, still buried in him, arms trembling and drops of sweat raining down on him. His eyes open again.  
“Logan?”  
I can’t speak, but I can make him more comfortable, lifting his hips, which changes the angle and causes a slight gasp, not pain, just stimulation, he’s sensitive, he’s still trembling slightly from his own release but now his tail is off the bed, he should be more comfortable. I reach for another flower, this must not hurt, he moves his legs down, clasping them behind me. Better, if anything, deeper than before.

He keeps his eyes open as I start to thrust again, watching my face, arching his back as the tempo increases, then that fucking tail snakes up, the spade of it running down my spine and then around my ball sack, squeezing, oh fuck, it’s too much, the sneaky bastard is grinning in triumph and I’m coming inside him and may never stop.  
I bury my head in his strong shoulder as the stars explode behind my eyes. 

I’ve had sex with other guys over the years, but this is the only man I’ve made love with, the only one who sleeps with me afterwards, and when he’s asleep on me, warm and safe and happy, that’s the best feeling of all. 

That’s one of the two things I need to remember. Jean will be proud of me.

**Author's Note:**

> We’ll see how happy Jean is in the morning, won’t we, not sure this is quite what she had in mind.  
And the language! Sorry if any delicate sensibilities have been damaged, but I think Logan uses ‘fuck’ as punctuation. As well as an instruction.
> 
> And I’d better get writing that breakfast scene, hadn’t I?


End file.
